by Avelyn Paige
“Like it?”
“I like it. I normally don’t like merlots,” I remark quietly. Merlots are his favorite, not mine. I’m more of a Moscato fan, but I don’t want to insult him even more than I have by being almost an hour late. Court ran over, as I had expected it would. Mr. Jackson had somehow managed to get an earlier court date, but the judge ordered a continuance so he could review the matter further. His disapproval of the decision landed him with a charge of contempt of court.
“The usual?” Aaron asks, snapping me out of my caseload daydream.
“Sure.”
“We’d both like the cacio e pepe.”
“Of course, sir.” The server scribbles away on his notepad before taking the menus from the table.
“I’m going to take a wild guess here, but court didn’t go well, did it?”
“It didn’t. But I thought you didn’t want to talk shop during our meal?”
“Touché. It’s like you don’t think I know you that well. You’re only meeting me tonight to find out more about the Tucker case.”
“That’s not true,” I fire back, panicking at being caught red-handed. “I like Piero’s just as much as you do.”
Aaron slumps slightly into his chair. “I just wish it was the company you were as excited to see as it was the case file I have for you.”
“You found something?” I almost gasp, making the tension between us grow colder. I didn’t even notice the folder sitting next to his plate with his hand resting on it until he mentioned it.
“I did.” He passes the folder across the table, and I have to force myself not to snatch it out of his hand. I don’t want to be greedy, but what he found could blow my case wide open. “But I have to warn you, there’re some graphic photos in there. It might be best to save looking through it until after dinner.”
“Oh. The mother?”
“Yes. I found her death certificate. She was originally logged as a Jane Doe until she was identified a few weeks later by her fingerprints in the IAFIS system. They found her at a truck stop.”
Those poor kids. If their mother is dead, how in the world did they end up with this uncle? Next of kin determination, or did he just claim them?
“It gets worse, Gracie. A local lot lizard found her in a ditch near the back end of Ricky’s truck stop off of I-35 and called it in. She had enough heroin in her system to kill an elephant. She OD’d.”
A tidal wave of sadness washes over me. “That poor woman,” is all I can get out. Addiction never leaves you. It takes an ugly hold around every aspect of your life and wrings you dry, until there’s nothing left. “Did you find anything about what happened to the kids?”
“I spoke with the lead investigator this morning, who ran her death investigation. He didn’t even know she was a mother, so that rules out that DFPS or law enforcement had anything to do with the current placement of either child.”
“Shit. Shit, shit, shit.”
Aaron’s brows lift in surprise. “That’s a lot of swearing for you in one sentence.”
“It’s got to be those bikers. There’s no other explanation. She got caught up with them and OD’d. When she died, they took her kids with them. Nothing else makes sense. I knew I should’ve pressed that man further.” I mutter away to myself, trying to work it all out while totally forgetting I hadn’t planned on telling Aaron about my little adventure into the strip club a few days ago.
Aaron’s body grows still. “You talked to them?”
“I might have,” I answer sheepishly.
I listen for the ringing bell that should be dinging, because this dinner is about to go DEFCON now. Aaron has always been protective of me, but I haven’t exactly thrown myself into the lion’s den of danger with a group of men like the Black Hoods before. It’s a first for us both, and the way he’s staring a hole through me right now tells me all I need to know about how he feels over my little folly.
“After everything I told you about them, you still went there? They could have killed you, Grace. Those men, that group. They don’t care who they kill, as long as it serves their purpose.”
“I don’t even know why I followed them into that strip club, but I did.” Lord have mercy, mouth. Connect with my brain already. If I could facepalm myself right now for my lack of a verbal filter, I would. Why did I tell him that too?
“A strip club? Jesus, Grace! What were you thinking?”
“I wasn’t, but I had to find that man.”
“I don’t like this,” he declares. “You’re obsessed with this case. I knew you were one hundred percent dedicated to your job, but this,”—he waves his hands in front of him—“this nonsense will get you killed. You need to leave it alone and let me handle it. Let anyone else handle it.”
Feeling scolded, I look down at the table, avoiding his gaze. “Those kids have no mother, no father. They only have me to look out for them.”
“Risking your life isn’t worth it. Not to the people who love you.”
Love. That word between us gives me an uneasy feeling. He can’t love me. He knows I don’t love him, right? It has to be the heat of the moment talking. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.
“Grace, you can’t be involved in this case. It’s going to get you killed. Don’t you see that?”
I finally meet his eyes. “That’s for me to decide, isn’t it? The last time I checked, I’ve never had a father in my life, and I’m not in the market for one now. I can make my own decisions just fine.”
He stills at my tone, but his fermenting rage lingers on his face.
“You have a death wish if you think going headlong into that club is going to give you the answers you need. Those men are killers.”
“And yet, here I am in one piece.” He’s treating me like a child. Was it stupid to walk into that strip club without so much as a gun to protect me? Of course it was. But that gray-haired brute of a man needed to know that his club didn’t intimidate me. Nothing will stop me from protecting those kids. Not Aaron, and certainly not Eugene Grant and his band of bikers. I’m my own mistress, and there will be no fucking master, friend, or whatever he is, if he can’t support my decision.
Anger wafts off him in thick waves, and as his voice raises, more eyes peer over at us. He’s making a scene for the entire restaurant.
“Grace,” he growls. “Please, leave it alone.”
“No. End of story.”
Coming over with our meals, the server quietly places them in front of us as we both stew in our anger and frustration. I try to eat, but the longer I sit here, the angrier I get. When the server comes back by to check on us, I ask for a box. Aaron snaps out of his quiet rage, and something flashes in his eyes, something I’ve never seen before. He’s hurt. I’ve hurt him.
“You don’t have to leave on my account.” His tone says the opposite. He’s angry with me, but he’s trying too hard to mask it. I know he cares about me, but he has to realize there’s nothing between us. “Please, stay and eat your dinner.”
“I can’t, Aaron. After all of this, you know I can’t.”
Reaching for my purse, I grab a twenty and place it on the table to cover my half of the meal and wine. The server brings a box to the table and deposits my untouched meal into the Styrofoam container before handing it to me in the bag. I carefully place the file into my bag, grab my leftovers, and shove up from my chair. I move to walk away, but he reaches out and grabs my arm.
“Don’t do this, Grace. Please.” I jerk from his grasp and leave him alone to eat his meal. I don’t look back.
Fat tears run down my cheeks as soon as I get outside, my chest heaving as a pang of anger roars out of me the second I’m away from him. Tonight is a major turning point in our friendship. Likely the end of it, I think. Aaron doesn’t easily forgive, and leaving him there like that, I might as well have plunged a knife into his heart. Mine too, if I’m being honest. For so many years, I’ve relied on him like a crutch when things got tough. Maybe a little too much. It may hurt right now, but thi
s is for the best, for both our sakes.
Judge
“Uh, Gene?” I turn to find Kevin standing in the doorway to the garage, his basketball resting against his hip. He nods his head toward the street, and I follow his gaze to see Grace Halfpenny climbing out of her car, her bun wound so tight at the back of her head, I’m surprised her skin isn’t peeling off.
“Inside, bud.”
“But—”
“Inside,” I repeat. Shoving past him, I move to intercept her before she comes too far onto my property. Her eyes lock with mine, but her steps never falter as she moves closer. I hate that her skirt fits her figure so well.
“Mr. Grant,” she says, extending her hand for me to shake.
Glancing down at it, I curl my lip in mock disgust. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
Her hand drops. “I thought I’d maybe try a do-over of our conversation from the other day.”
I glower at her, totally ignoring the perfectly placed freckle just above her lip. “Do they actually pay you to fuck with people’s lives?” Pulling my wallet from my pocket, I find a crisp hundred-dollar bill and offer it to her. “Here, take this for your time. Now leave.”
She bristles at that. “Mr. Grant, my job is to ensure that all children are free from abuse and taken care of. That is my only goal, ever.”
“Well, good then. End of discussion and job well done. Kevin and Nat are being well taken care of, and I personally see to it every single day that they’re both free from abuse. You can go on your merry little way and find someone else to fuck with.”
She sighs. “That’s not the way this works.”
“That’s exactly the way this works. I’m not gonna bend over and let some bitch from DFPS come between me and my kids.”
“They’re not your kids, Mr. Grant.”
Finished with her and her bullshit, I jam a finger in front of her face and lean in close. “They’re more mine than yours. You don’t know them at all, and I’m supposed to let you come in and take them off to some foster home run by strangers? Fuck that shit.”
“They need to have a legal guardian, and all I need is for you to prove that’s what you are, legally.”
My blood boils. “You and I both know that ain’t gonna happen. But neither is you taking those kids outta this goddamn house.”
“I don’t—”
“You think some overwhelmed foster parent is going to know that Natalie can’t sleep without the light on? Or that Kevin needs a fan running in his room all night long?” She stares at me, her mouth hanging open. “Will they know that Natalie hates apple juice, but will devour an entire bag of apples as long as you slice them up for her?”
She swallows. “No, but—”
“Will they know that Kevin wants to play football but has never had anyone care enough about him to teach him how? And if they did, would they spend hours in the backyard teaching him, just like I do every single fucking night?”
I’m shaking with frustration and anger as she opens her mouth to speak and then closes it. Pressing her lips together, she tries again. “Look, Mr. Grant, I’m not here to argue the validity of the foster care program with you. I’m here to make sure these kids are in your home legally. And until we can make it legal, we need to come up with a solution.”
I glare at her. “Oh yeah? And what exactly is your solution?”
She squares her shoulders and looks me in the eye. “I need you to hand over the children to me and allow us to investigate the matter further. If you are in fact their next of kin, the children will be returned to you immediately.”
“And if not?”
I’ll give her credit; she doesn’t miss a beat. “They will be placed in a home that can care for them until such a time that a relative comes forward or prospective adoptive parents can be legally vetted and approved.”
Is she listening to her own fucked-up words? “So you’re telling me you want to remove two orphan kids from a home they’re happy in, loved in, and are part of a family that doesn’t inject poison into their veins every fifteen minutes, taking them to some house where the parents are paid to keep them fed and clothed, but couldn’t care less about who they are and how they feel?”
She blinks back at me, and miracle of all miracles, actually seems to be at a loss for words.
“Nah. You’ll take these kids out of my house over my dead body.”
The way she shakes her head seems to reek of defeat, but I can tell by looking at her that she doesn’t give up easily.
Reaching into a folder, she pulls out a card. “Take this,” she says, her jaw set just as tight as mine. “It’s my number and email address. You know I can’t let this go, Mr. Grant. This isn’t over. But if you change your mind and want to cooperate, please call me, and we can hopefully work together. I want this process to be as painless as I can for both Kevin and Natalie.”
I snatch the card out of her hand. “If you take them away from me, it’ll be far from painless.”
“Have a good afternoon, Mr. Grant.”
She holds herself together as she makes her way to her sedan, but I can see a slight tremble to her slim frame. I’ve rattled her.
She doesn’t look back as she climbs into the vehicle, and she doesn’t linger. Starting the car, she pulls away from the curb, and I watch until she’s gone from sight.
“She’s going to put us in a foster home, isn’t she?”
I spin around and find Kevin and Natalie standing in the doorway to the garage, their eyes filled with worry. A tear escapes Nat’s eye, gliding lazily down her cheek.
“She isn’t putting you anywhere. This is your home.” They don’t look convinced, and quite frankly, I don’t blame them, because I’m not convinced either. “Come on,” I say, walking between them and draping an arm over their shoulders. “Let’s get inside and see what we can find for supper, okay?”
They both move with me, allowing me to assuage their fears for now, but it’s not until Natalie’s head rests against my chest as we walk that I make my decision. If Grace Halfpenny shows up here again, she and the case file she lords over us may just have to disappear.
Grace
Between Eugene Grant and Mr. Jackson’s incessant calls regarding the continuance of his case, I’m nearly at my wits’ end. Well, the end of the wits I still have left at my disposal. At this point, I’m sure my wits have flown the coop in search of a better brain to inhabit. Where Mr. Jackson is fighting for his rights, Mr. Grant seems to get off on frustrating me, enjoying the volley between us a bit too much.
At first, I thought his demeanor at the strip club was only because I took him by surprise, but really, it’s all him. It’s not a show of intimidation. His bulging muscles and height did that all on their own. It’s the way he carries himself that grinds at me. His confidence. His determination that those kids belong to him without a single shred of evidence to prove otherwise. The way he takes up all the air around him, leaving absolutely nothing for anyone else to breathe. The fact that I like it in an odd way, something I’ve never felt before in all the cases and men like him I’ve had to go toe-to-toe with over the years. Nothing makes sense when it comes to Eugene Grant.
A part of me notices just how much he seems to love those kids, even when he’s trying to press every aggravating button I have all at once.
On top of it all, Aaron hasn’t called. Not that I’m surprised with the way I left things at the restaurant. In such a lonely world, he’s been my only true friend, apart from Greg. He was my rock and sounding board when a case threw me for a loop. He didn’t deserve to be left there like that, and the guilt has been eating me up inside ever since. I’ve picked up my phone a dozen times over the last few days to call or text him like I normally would, but I could never let myself dial the number. We’ve fought before, but never like this. I have to give him space.
A part of me misses him hovering around, but it’s a bit of a relief to not have to explain my every move to him about this case. More so now
that I went in person, unofficially, to speak with Eugene Grant again. He’d have locked me up if he knew and then he would throw away the key in his effort to protect me.
I’ve taken the time to dive deeper into the files Aaron had given me at dinner, though. Natalie and Kevin’s mother didn’t leave this world kindly, going by the photographs Aaron had included. Her sunken eyes and rail thin body lying in the ditch near the truck stop shook me more than I care to admit. I’ve seen things, horrible things, but her death... It’ll haunt me for the rest of my life because when I look into her sad death stare, all I can see is Natalie and Kevin looking back at me.
Their pain.
Their terrible childhood.
How similar their upbringing is to my own.
Flipping through Aaron’s files again, I find where I left off the night before and dive into my work. My notebook is filled with page after page of scribbles—notes, personal thoughts, and possible reasons for why they ended up with the president of a motorcycle club. All of them circle back to Eugene Grant. He’s the key to everything.
My mind drifts off for a few seconds, considering all the secrets he must hold before my desk phone snaps me out of it. I blink twice when I recognize the number that comes across the screen. Aaron.
“H–Hi. I didn’t expect you’d call me—”
“I have some information for you about the Tucker case.” No hello. No sweetness in his voice. It’s cold as ice. “There’s been a missing persons report filed for the kids and an uncle. I emailed it all over to you.”
“Let me open up my email.” Clicking the icon, I find it at the top. “Got it. Do you have any information about the person who filed it?”
“Their father.” He gives me no further information.
“Father?” I flip through the paperwork in front of me. “In all the case files, there’s no indication of their father being in the picture. He’s never sought legal custody.”
“That’s what I was told by the officer who took the report. All the information is there, as well as how to contact him. I put in an order for a background check since I knew you’d ask. They’ll send the results directly to you.”
